


Crepusculine

by Terminallydepraved



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Face-Fucking, Knifeplay, M/M, Masochism, Painplay, Rough Oral Sex, Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 11:08:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21445228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terminallydepraved/pseuds/Terminallydepraved
Summary: “I thought you loved Gotham,” Jason said. “You’ll hurt her feelings talking like that.”Roman snorted, pulling the cigar from his teeth. It smoked slowly, thin tendrils of white-grey rising towards the ceiling in lazy, swirling strands. “This city is a bitch, Red,” the Black Mask said, eyeing Jason with something that felt like consideration. The feeling grew stronger when Roman took a step closer, the scent of his cigar stinging Jason’s nose. “She’s a grimy, cutthroat bitch who will slit you down the middle just as soon as look at you. She’ll cut your throat and spit in your open esophagus. Don’t treat her like a lady; she doesn’t deserve it.”
Relationships: Roman Sionis/Jason Todd
Comments: 21
Kudos: 146





	Crepusculine

**Author's Note:**

> its been like thirty thousand years since i last wrote batman fic but it really fucking figures that id come back to it because of romjay. i had this premise cooking in the back of my head for awhile and i finally got the time to put it to paper. hope yall enjoy it!

Some people liked to say that you couldn’t take the measure of a place while looking at it from just one vantage point. At least, Jason had grown up hearing that from one person— the most important person for much of his life, right up until he’d learned otherwise. Back then the notion had been in regards to surveillance, scouting. Squaring up an enemy before swooping in to take them out before they even knew what hit them. These days Jason couldn’t say outright that it wasn’t sound logic. 

But when he tried to consider Gotham as a whole, that logic fell right the fuck apart. It didn’t matter what vantage point you had on her. You could be at the top of Wayne Enterprises or in the grimiest of her serpentine streets and come to the same damn conclusion: Gotham was a shithole in every way. 

Jason wasn’t at the top of Wayne Enterprises tonight, but he was in a high rise all the same. He stood in front of a wall made of glass, looking out at the city that hadn’t proved him wrong in over twenty years. 

He tightened his arms across his chest, stared a little harder at the glittering lights glinting off the highrises across the way. The view wasn’t exactly what he was used to seeing; he was a bit more downtown than he normally tended to run, the building hardly one he—or any of the usual suspects for that matter—frequented as a perch when it came time to assess the city below. It made it a little easier to pretend he wasn’t in Gotham. That someone he knew—someone like Bruce—wasn’t around to hear about whose penthouse he was crashing in these days. 

Again, he scoffed. Crashing was definitely putting it lightly. He turned his head until he could just see the figure behind the desk still scrawling away at the forms littering the table. The man at his back was the kind of guy no one should ever let _ be _at one’s back. Roman had made himself comfortable, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was any less dangerous holding a pen than he was holding a gun. Jason made sure to only glance his way every now and again, to keep him from noticing he was being watched. He turned back to face the glass when he confirmed that things were still as they’d been when he’d walked in an hour ago. 

Well, almost the same. Roman had lost his jacket at some point when he wasn’t looking. He’d rolled his sleeves up his thick forearms too. Good. Casual was good when it came to them. Jason knew how to manage casual. Mostly. 

Crawling into bed with the Black Mask wasn’t about to top any list of Jason’s best ideas of all time. Hell, it probably would wind up on the other list before he managed to see this through to the end. But Jason had never been accused of having the best foresight, and in the moment it had felt right. Roman Sionis had his claws dug deep into Gotham’s underbelly; that was simply fact. If Jason needed access to men, munitions, and intel, there was no easier way to get it than to piggyback off the channels Roman had spent the better part of two decades establishing on his own dime. 

And if it had the added effect of pissing Bruce and the other masks off, then all the better. Let them hear about the Red Hood falling in with a dog like Sionis. Let them talk and worry and judge. The devil you know was the one you wanted in your corner; either they’d realize it or they wouldn’t. It was no skin off Jason’s back either way. 

At least, it hadn’t taken any skin off him yet. Roman had gone along with the notion of a partnership with surprising ease— Hell, he’d been downright giddy at the thought. Jason had expected some reluctance, some of that old bad blood to be the bitter pill that kept Roman from swallowing what he was trying to feed him. But, nah. Roman liked a little crazy, liked knowing the sort of people he brought into his inner fold. The fact that Jason had managed to piss him the fuck off so royally in the past simply spoke to his skills and gumption. And if Roman got an heir apparent out of it too, then that was just the icing on the cake. 

“You just here to stand there and look pretty?”

Jason blinked, turning his head. He’d eschewed the helmet tonight. Roman, of course, hadn’t. 

“Someone’s gotta,” he returned easily, fixing Roman with his full attention. “Since you sure as shit can’t.”

Roman’s chair creaked as he sat back in it, tossing down his pen for the first time that evening. Despite how late it was, Black Mask hadn’t really felt the need to dress down for comfort. Sure, he’d tossed his suit jacket over the back of his chair, and yeah, his shirt sleeves were rolled up over his forearms, but the holsters tucked nice and neat under each arm were still there, still maintaining a threat that could afford to go unsaid. Jason looked at the twin guns, shifting a little just to feel his own. It said something about Roman that he could make a man feel exposed while wearing the least amount of layers in the room.

Dark eyes met Jason’s, piercing despite how deeply they were set in that mask of his. He opened up a drawer and dug around in it. “You’ve got a mouth on you, Red,” he said, voice all whiskey-scratched and warm. Probably from the scotch he’d poured himself when he sat down to work. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

Jason huffed. “Not anyone who mattered.” He made sure to smile then, to make sure Roman picked up on the _ and that includes you _that he left unsaid. 

Out came a box. Out came a silver cigar cutter. “Cute,” came the unaffected reply. This was a routine as regular as Alfred’s afternoon tea, and just like when he was a kid, Jason found it hard to look away in the wake of such measured, practiced habit. Roman was confident as he flicked open the box and pulled out what had to be a Cuban. 

Roman lifted the box, gestured in Jason’s direction, and Jason shook his head. That was as much a part of the routine as the rest at this point. Roman rolled his eyes and snipped off the end of it with the cutter, then dug around his desk for a lighter. The one he used wasn’t the fancy kind of piece Jason would ever attribute to a man like Roman. It was an old thing, but not quite old enough to be antique and not quirky enough to be vintage. It needed a good four or five strikes before the wick caught, like the flint was nearly gone, and hissed like it’d been awhile since it was last filled up with lighter fluid. Roman puffed on the end of his cigar as he lit it, flicked the lighter closed once smoke turned to fire turned to smoke. His eyes closed as he breathed in deeply. 

“Sure you don’t want one?” he asked, voice rasped a little lower on the exhale. “Might finally put some hair on that chest of yours.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “I’ll pass, thanks.” 

Roman scoffed and took another drag. He crossed his legs, hooking an ankle over his knee. “You’re getting boring on me, Red. Predictable. You gotta live a little sometimes,” he said, pausing to inhale deeply. He made a show of savoring it before letting it stream past the lips of his mask in a thick, smokey cloud. “Enjoy the finer things in life.”

“Those things will give you cancer,” he rattled off like every lecture he’d put up with in his adolescence, giving up the skyline in favor of facing Roman fully. Jason sprawled against the glass, ankles crossed and arms folded in the picture of casual disobedience. It’d probably piss Roman off more being lectured like that, like having an asshole half his age treating him like a kid caught smoking behind the school. 

If anyone could look fondly—if still utterly—unamused while taking a drag off a cigar, it was Roman Sionis. He held his cigar between his fingers, eyeing Jason like the sort of problem he didn’t know whether to fix or make worse with the claw end of a hammer. 

“Lots of shit will give you cancer,” Roman grunted, his eyes narrowing behind his mask. “This city is cancer already. Me smoking this is better for my health than breathing in the toxic sludge we call air here.”

Well, he really couldn’t argue with that. Wearing a mask in a city like this could be considered a fashion statement, but if it helped filter out some of the acrid smog before it hit your lungs then all the better for it. “I thought you loved Gotham,” Jason said. “You’ll hurt her feelings talking like that.”

Roman snorted, pulling the cigar from his teeth. It smoked slowly, thin tendrils of white-grey rising towards the ceiling in lazy, swirling strands. “This city is a bitch, Red,” the Black Mask said, eyeing Jason with something that felt like consideration. The feeling grew stronger when Roman took a step closer, the scent of his cigar stinging Jason’s nose. “She’s a grimy, cutthroat bitch who will slit you down the middle just as soon as look at you. She’ll cut your throat and spit in your open esophagus. Don’t treat her like a lady; she doesn’t deserve it.”

Pontificating already? Jason glanced down at the half full glass of scotch resting forgotten on the desk behind Roman. Usually the speeches didn’t start until the cup was empty. Roman stood in front of him now, his dark silhouette outlined in the hazy orange light filtering off the streets through the wall-length window before them. Jason couldn’t help but stare a little. It was an impressive sight. More than enough to remind him why Roman was able to reside in such a posh place, that was for sure. 

Jason managed a twitch of the lips that Roman might read as a smile if he were lucky and a grimace if he wasn’t. “Then why do you put so much effort into her?” he wondered, turning away from Roman, putting his back to him in a show of absolute confidence they were both too smart to buy as legit. He crossed his arms, shifted his weight to one leg. “Sounds to me like she doesn’t deserve you.”

Roman’s laugh was… Fuck. Shivers rolled down Jason’s spine, the scent of smoke suddenly closer as Roman called his bluff and took up position behind him. Jason made himself stay still, unbothered, but he could feel the heat of Roman’s body bleeding through his jacket, prickling the back of his neck like the touch of a ghost. In the reflection of the window Jason could watch Roman assess him. He watched Roman lift his cigar to the mouth of his mask, drag in a lungful, and then exhale in a smooth, fragrant cloud of smoke. 

“You sound jealous, Red.”

Jason snorted, muscles primed to move though he knew there was no risk in this game they were playing. They played it every day, in numerous ways. The rules were different each time, but some stayed the same. 

Still. His heart pounded. 

“In your dreams,” he drawled, putting as much Gotham bite in it as he could manage— which was a lot. He’d been cut from her cloth down the core of his being. Her acid ran thick in his veins, her grime like mother’s milk. She was worse than cancer but sometimes that still felt like home. Jason turned his head just enough to glimpse Roman looming over his shoulder. He’d gotten closer. Close enough for even this slight motion to make them touch, his shoulder just skimming the front of Roman’s dress shirt. 

Roman’s head shifted, his eyes lowering as he lifted his hand and placed it on Jason’s hip. “Nah,” he said, voice low, hucky, rasped like the scotch he drank and the imported cigars he smoked. He squeezed tightly. “My dreams are a hell of a lot more creative.”

There really was no misconstruing this kind of thing, was there? Roman had a gift for being blunt, blunt like a crowbar to the head. Jason fought a grin and the grin won out. He tipped his head forward and huffed out a laugh. “Is that where all your creative energy goes? Thinking up perverted things to do with your heir?”

Hands tightening, Roman’s voice was like sandpaper. “Just some of it.” He began to move his hands higher, riding the line of Jason’s waist to slip beneath his jacket. The body armor he wore was thick, but not thick enough to completely erase the heat and pressure of the man’s touch. Jason shivered, lifting his chin just enough to meet his eyes in the reflection of the glass. “Most goes to figuring out punishments for the idiots who piss me off.”

Oh. Well. “Guess I blur the lines then,” Jason figured, glancing past his reflection to look at the man looming behind him. He watched Roman’s shoulders rise and fall with a gravelly laugh. 

“Blur them?” The tips of Roman’s fingers dug deep into his ribcage, nearly hard enough to feel through the amor. “Red, you play jump rope with that line.”

Jason snorted— tried to, at least. He got out the general sound just as Roman let go of his chest to grab his arms hanging down at his sides. The snort morphed into a choked grunt as Roman twisted his right arm behind his back, using their position as leverage to shove Jason face-first into the cold glass window. The pain was immediate, burning, and Jason sucked in air as he tried to process the sudden change, the sudden slant towards violence when they’d just been flirting a second prior. 

“What… Shit, Roman, what the fuck gives?” Jason tried to pitch it light, like he wasn’t in danger of having his shoulder pop out of its socket. He wasn’t entirely sure he succeeded. 

“What’s the matter, Red? Did daddy surprise you?”

Jason rolled his eyes so hard that he half thought they might pop right out of his skull. “Holy shit, you’re fucked up.”

“And you’re the one who wanted to crawl into bed with me in the first place, so what does that make you?” 

The question was rhetorical. Jason knew this because Roman began yanking at his arms, yanking on his collar, grappling at his coat with no concern for the pain it might cause him in this position. Jason screwed his eyes shut and let out a stifled groan. It earned him a laugh in return. Well, a laugh and some more choice observations courtesy of Black Mask himself.

“You remind me of her sometimes,” Roman said, divesting Jason of his jacket with the confidence of a man who wasn’t often denied, if ever. 

“Please don’t say your wife,” Jason deadpanned breathlessly, watching his jacket land in the corner of the room. Too far to be reached easily, too out of the way to offer him an easy out if he felt like taking the golden opportunity Black Mask was dangling over him by suggesting—hell, it wasn’t even suggesting if they were already stripping, was it?— that they take this partnership in a new direction. “I don’t think my heart could take it—”

The swift burst of pain wasn’t unexpected in the slightest. Roman applied more pressure to the arm he had trapped behind Jason’s back, his shoulder straining against the bad angle. “It’s that attitude of yours that does it,” Roman went on, acting as if he hadn’t been interrupted to begin with. “That devil-may-care front you put up. Act so tough, don’t you? Like you’re invincible.” 

The pressure grew worse. Jason rose up on his toes, gaining leverage against the cold glass window so he wouldn’t have to lean back into Roman’s chest the way he clearly wanted him to. Jason gritted his teeth, practically spat through them to get out, “So, not your wife then?”

The breath left Jason in a whoosh as Roman stopped playing coy and slammed him fully against the window, sandwiching him to the glass and his chest. Jason felt something click in his shoulder, his vision flickering white around the edges. Roman dropped his wrist and Jason was forced to let it fall to his side, limp and useless for the moment. It didn’t feel broken. No, Roman wouldn’t do something like that to him. He was too useful to break just yet, too valuable. But a jab to a pressure point? An over-extended sprain? Jason could shake that off or work through it with just a few popped painkillers. Fair game all around.

Roman threaded his fingers through Jason’s hair, shoving his face firmly to the glass. “Just look out there,” he ordered, the firm, hard shape of his cock an unmistakable addition to the romantic mood he’d done so much to facilitate. “See her? I look out at these windows every single day. You wanna know what I think when I do? The sorts of thoughts that come to me?”

“‘God, I really need to hire a window cleaner?’” 

Jason’s skull cracked against the glass. “I think about how much I want to fucking break her.” Roman ground his cock forward, a hot, humid breath tickling Jason’s ear. “I see all her cracks and filth, all the weak little creatures that scuttle around her edges, and I want to crush her into pieces beneath my heel.” He chuckled darkly, tightening his grip a little more. “I wanna burn her to the ground so she can come back stronger under my hands.”

His hands, huh. His strong, bone-breaking hands. Jason had watched him wring a man’s neck with those hands, seen him beat a guy so black and blue that not even his own mother would recognize him after. Those hands disarmed him now in more ways than one. They dragged his holsters off him forcibly, adding more pressure on his over-extended joints and the added knowledge that this was happening, and not completely under his own terms. Roman pawed at his chest, his side, his hip. In any other context it might feel like groping, but Jason knew better. He knew Roman was searching him for hidden weapons, checking firsthand to see just how armed his newest, most favorite (hah) dog was when he came up for his nightly visit. 

A few blades hit the floor, followed by some smoke grenades, ammo magazines, and a handful of things Roman probably didn’t recognize but knew to keep from Jason if he wanted him truly at his mercy. Jason had time to give thanks to any god listening that he’d skimped on the C4 tonight; it was one thing to run around with that shit in his jacket, but he sure as shit didn’t need Roman blowing them both to high heaven just because he felt like throwing it around like a baseball. 

“You’re a walking, talking arsenal,” Roman remarked once the last weapon hit the floor. “How much did all that set you back?”

“Does it matter?” Jason hissed, eyes smarting at the burn in his shoulders. “It’s not like you’re footing the bill.”

The pressure increased like a threat. Roman’s hot breath bathed Jason’s ear. “Oh, I’m not? That’s funny.”

“Not rea—”

The pain ratcheted up another degree. Roman growled, low and threatening, “It’s funny because the last time I checked my accounts, I _ was.” _

Oh, shit. Jason wheezed out a laugh. And here he was, thinking he’d done such a good job covering up his tracks. At least, he’d done a passable job. Half-assed but nothing to sneeze at. Maybe Roman’s account managers weren’t as stupid as they looked.

It hurt to turn his head, but Jason managed it anyway, turning is bared teeth into a simpering smile. “Can’t help it if I like to play with expensive toys.” Roman looked pissed. Hot. “What are you gonna do about it? Spank me?”

“Don’t tempt me, Red. You may be a big bitch but I can still put you over my goddamn knee.” The pressure eased a bit. Jason released a breath unconsciously, resting more of his weight against the cold glass. “I should do a lot worse. Do you know the kinda shit I do to a guy I catch stealing from what’s mine?”

“But that’s the thing,” Jason interjected. “Aren’t we playing family here, _ daddy _? What’s yours is mine.”

Roman let go of his wrist entirely. Pins and needles raced up the length of his arm, his fingers numb and the rush of blood more painful than the hold had been. Roman moved his hands to Jason’s hips, digging in hard enough to bruise. “You’ve got it wrong, Red. What’s mine is mine unless I say otherwise. Ask next time. I might be inclined to be generous.”

Was he serious? Jesus christ. “You want me to ask daddy like the good little heiress I am?” Jason laughed again, rocking his ass back against Roman’s straining dick. The sick fuck was even harder now, and it said something that it could’ve been from the sadism _ or _the daddy-talk. Maybe even both. “Well, golly gee, if I’d known this shit came with an allowance I might’ve said something sooner.”

Surprisingly enough, Roman laughed at that. Unfortunately for Jason, laughing didn’t make him ease up even a little bit, the kinky fucker. Roman just rolled his hips forward, calling Jason’s bluff like it was his absolute pleasure to do so. 

“Where’s the fun in that, Red? Where’s the fun in calling you out and setting you straight? If I wanted some slack-jawed yes-man who asked me to hold his hand for every little damn thing he wanted, then what kind of image am I putting out there?” Roman asked, voice sickly sweet and absolutely fucked _ up _ with the wrongness of a voice like his taking a tone like that. There was a burning itch building in the pit of Jason’s stomach, some weird sort of fire that got worse with every word that met his ear. He closed his eyes as Roman went on, “I need someone who can take what he wants when he wants it. I want a boy who won’t say _ please _until it’s beaten into him.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Roman was so fucked up. Jason’s dick ached with the realization that he wasn’t much better off either. But, that was fine. Absolutely fine. He’d had plenty of time to come to terms with that. One more smear to his name couldn’t tarnish an already blackened reputation. 

And, when it really came down to it… who would know but him?

“Get on your knees, Red,” Roman ordered, his hands heavy and insistent on Jason’s shoulders. “And take off your shirt.”

“Not gonna take it off for me?” Jason wondered, snarking away to hide how easily his knees gave out. He made it to the floor, had all of a second to look out the window at the new angle before Roman gripped him by the hair and yanked him around the other way. Baring his teeth, Jason seethed, “What the fuck? Can’t you just use your words for once?”

Roman snorted. He let go of Jason’s hair, taking a step back and to the side. Jason rubbed at his tender scalp and eyed him warily. The toe of Roman’s shoe nudged at the pile of weapons sinking into the plush carpet. A bubble of unease rose up as he dipped down and picked up a short blade from the stash. Then, he picked up a pair of handcuffs. 

Jason swallowed it down as swiftly as it came. Roman’s eyes flicked towards him. He met them as steadily as he could. 

“Take off the shirt, Red,” came the husky reply. Roman gripped the knife experimentally. He seemed pleased with the weight. “You won’t like it if I take it off for you.”

They were entering dangerous territory. Adrenaline flared in the base of Jason’s skull, sweat prickling along his skin as he huffed and peeled off his shirt. He did it quickly at the risk of looking eager; he didn’t want to take his eyes off Roman now that he was armed. The shirt joined the rest of his belongings on the floor. Jason had to remind himself that he was still dangerous half-naked and on his knees. He’d killed stronger men than Roman with less. He’d… put himself into worse situations for less of a potential payoff than this promised to yield, so long as Roman didn’t gut him in the process. 

So, he put on a brave face. A cocky one. Roman didn’t really see it though, since he had moved behind his back to put the cuffs to good use. Jason crossed his hands behind his back when prompted, and he was proud of himself for only shivering a little at the feeling of Roman’s big, warm hands brushing up against his bare skin as he worked the icy cuffs into place. He didn’t wince when the cuffs clicked shut tightly around his wrists. He was proud of himself for that. It was the little things that meant the most right now, and he wasn’t ashamed to take what he could get. 

Roman stood back up and circled him like a fucking vulture. In response, Jason tilted his chin up in a jaunty sort of fuck-you gesture that made him feel a little less vulnerable. “Happy?” he asked, proud that none of his emerging nerves bled into his voice to give him away. “Like, I should’ve figured you’d go for the bondage route. You’ve got the BDSM mask, you clearly take all your inspiration from Fifty Shades— It’s a no-brainer on that, but come on. A knife? You really need a knife too? Didn’t really peg you as the type to compensate… Hey, are you listening to me?”

Roman’s eyes didn’t bother to look away from his chest. They moved in slow, heavy passes, the knife spinning in Roman’s scarred hands as he gradually sauntered closer, unhurried and absolutely in control. “Sure, Red, sure,” he said placatingly, pausing once he was situated only a few inches from Jason’s spot on the floor. Jason tried not to wilt. Roman towered over him. The knife would be too close to dodge like this. “I’m hanging onto every word.”

Jason’s fingernails cut into his hands behind his back. He tried for a laugh. It came out shaky. “Doesn’t really feel like you’re listening to me,” he said. 

“Oh, poor baby,” Roman gave as a fucked up coo, finally meeting his eye. “It’s not my problem if you think every word that comes out of that mouth of yours is worth my undivided attention.”

Anger rushed in to overpower the unease. Jason pulled back his lips and narrowed his eyes. He snapped, “Excuse fucking you—” 

But that was all he managed to get out before silver glinted before his eyes. 

Jason inhaled sharply as the knife pricked his jugular. 

Roman clicked his tongue, the loudest thing in the room beyond the thumping rhythm of Jason’s blood between his ears. “Hold still,” he ordered, “and shut up.” 

There was no way around it, no time to think of an alternative. His heart beat like a drum, every resounding thrum carrying with it a sharp, visceral need that seemed to collect somewhere in his groin. Jason held still and he definitely shut up. Roman smiled with his eyes. He pressed the flat of the knife against the underside of Jason’s chin, tilting it up slowly. 

“Good boy,” he purred in that gravely voice of his. “What a good boy.”

It was suddenly so much harder to sit still. Jason trembled. He swallowed weakly, breath speeding up as the blade threatened to nick him for the reaction. There was no way he could intervene fast enough like this. It’d take him at least fifteen seconds to free himself from these handcuffs, and that was more than enough time to lodge a knife through someone’s skull and into their brain. Was this some kind of fucked up trust exercise? Roman slowly tilted his head as he considered him, curving the knife as he dragged it ever so lightly along the line of his jaw, his cheek, his… 

His bottom lip. 

Jason looked at Roman. Roman looked at Jason expectantly. The blade was thin, cold, and it slipped past his lips easily. Roman applied some pressure and Jason’s mouth fell open. 

“Say ‘ah’.” 

He wasn’t serious. Jason was at least forty-five percent sure he wasn’t, and when dealing with Roman, those were odds he felt comfortable enough taking. Sorta. Either way, he didn’t have much of a choice. The blade was flat on his tongue now, cold and tasting of steel. Jason fought against the urge to close his eyes—he couldn’t trust Roman that much—and did his best to keep up the eye contact, to figure out what the angle was, where Roman might go next. Assess, predict, react…

But it was hard to assess anything with a knife tickling his soft palate. It was harder still to predict what might come next when he’d seen Roman turn an idle conversation over scotch and cigars into something like this. Sweat prickled the back of Jason’s neck. React. Something was reacting. He could see it tented in Roman’s pants. He could feel it constricting him in his own.

“I think I like you better like this,” Roman observed, tearing Jason’s attention away from his cock and back to the knife in his mouth. “You’ve got a smart mouth. It’s nice seeing it occupied with something more productive than backtalk.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. If this was what he considered productive, it brought up more questions than answers. Roman tilted his chin and pressed down, the blade nicking the middle of his tongue. A sharp pain jolted through him. He instinctively tried to rear back, the threat of choking on a knife too great to swallow, but before he could slice his own tongue off, Roman had him by the hair, holding him in place. 

“Keep that up and you’ll lose it.” 

The warning was brisk, impersonal, like Roman didn’t really care if Jason did wind up cutting his own tongue off in some misguided attempt to toss his head. Silence was worth its weight in gold, he’d say. That it served Jason right for always running his mouth the way he did. Jason settled down ruefully and tried not to flinch as Roman practically tickled the back of his throat with the tip of the knife. Suppressing his gag reflex took all of his focus. Sweat trickled down his cheek. His breath began to come short. 

Just as he worried that he might do something stupid, Roman removed the knife. Jason choked on the force of his coughs, pitching over as he swallowed down the copious amounts of spit that had gathered in the back of his mouth. Roman’s fingers were lax in his hair, but still unmistakably there. He _ let _Jason recover. Graciously permitted it. When his fingers began to card through Jason’s hair, it became impossible to pretend otherwise.

The sound of a zipper opening cut through the sounds of his coughing. Jason stiffened. The fingers in his hair tightened and tugged. He slowly raised his head. 

“And that’s your dick,” Jason said conversationally, eyes locked on the hard cock hovering a few scant inches from his face. 

“Glad I got the smart bat out of the bunch,” Roman said, yanking his head closer. “You know how to handle one of these, right? I hope that mouth of yours isn’t good for just talking.”

Jason bared his teeth. “It’s good for biting too,” he said sweetly. “Just call me a bat again. I’ll give you a little show.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Roman chuckled a bit, dragging Jason forward with a swift, harsh yank to his hair. Jason fell forward, grunt smothered by the sudden sensation of hot, damp flesh pressed against his cheek. “You’re not a bat anymore, are you? You’re just mine. My heir. My Red.”

The sharp inhale was entirely out of Jason’s control. His ears burned. Looking up at Roman’s masked face, he tried to will away the scarlet staining his cheeks. It was hard though. About as hard as the dick currently mashed against his face. 

“You’re—” he tried to say, only for Roman to yank on his hair again and move his cock from his cheek to his mouth. Jason’s eyes went wide, his lips forming a seal already on the verge of breaking. His eyes flicked upwards and found Roman laughing. The man shook his head and clicked his tongue. What a fucking asshole. 

“As much as I love hearing that voice of yours, I think I’ve had my fill.” Roman’s free hand tossed away the knife. Now free, it moved to cup Jason’s jaw, his strong fingers forcing his mouth to open. “There we go. I know it’s big. Take your time,” he cooed as he mercilessly forced his way inside. Jason’s eyes watered as Roman shoved in deeper and deeper, lodging his cock in the back of his throat.

If Jason could still talk, he would’ve said something about that “big” comment. Not that it was wrong, but because he felt the need to be contrary. If Roman’s ego got any bigger than it already was, it might smother Jason faster than his cock ever could. 

The hand yanked his hair. Jason fought back a wince. “Pay attention, Red,” came the sharp order. “Watch those teeth. I know you can do better than this.”

Really? Did he really? Jason shot a watery glare at the man and dutifully curled his lips around his teeth. He wasn’t a virgin. This wasn’t his first blow job. Jason told himself to remember both of those things as he ground the meat of his palm against his trapped dick and gagged around Roman’s. Things were happening so fast. The whiplash had to be what was making this all feel so out of sorts, so absolutely uncontrollable. Every breath stung his nose. Faster and faster it came, shallow and never enough, and Roman couldn’t—wouldn’t—stop talking. Not even for a minute. 

“That’s good, oh, baby, that’s good,” he purred, his hips moving faster than his mouth. “Somebody’s good at this, isn’t he? You’ve been holding out on me, Red. Hiding this golden fucking mouth from daddy.”

God, Jason was more fucked up than he thought. Shivers ran down his spine, his mouth salivating to the point of embarrassment. It slipped past his lips and rolled down his chin, falling to the floor like heavy raindrops. He tried to swallow— Roman threw back his head and groaned so goddamn loud that the security outside the door had to have heard. Holy fucking shit. 

They’d know what he’d done, wouldn’t they? Those faceless lackeys out in the hall. They’d fucking know. No one had come in the office but him, and no one was allowed to look inside while the boss met with his precious heir. Jason’s face burned hotter and hotter. The sounds of slurping, of his involuntary little grunts threatened to drown out the pounding sound of his heart beating between his ears. His cock ached in his pants. Those fuckers would know. They’d watch him walk out of here with their boss’s cum on his lips and they’d… they’d… 

Jason tried to come to terms with the idea of some nameless goons jerking off to the infamous Red Hood sucking cock. He failed almost immediately and instead just got more turned on. 

_ Compartmentalize, _ a voice entirely too much like Bruce’s filled his mind. Jason’s throat gave a delirious little flutter as he choked on a laugh. _ Make your weaknesses into strengths. _

This probably wasn’t at all what Bruce had in mind when delivering that particular lesson. 

Then again, there was a lot Bruce hadn’t had in mind when it came to Jason. He’d—

The hand in Jason’s hair tightened hard enough to pull a few strands free from his scalp. Jason let out a stifled grunt, his eyes shooting up to glare at Roman. Of course, Roman was nigh on unreadable. Through the eye holes in his mask Jason could just make out an intense pair of eyes staring him down. 

“Don’t get distracted on me now, Red,” Roman told him, the tone light but the underlying meaning positively lethal. “I want your eyes on me. Understand?”

Replying was out of the question. Jason settled for a short head bob. 

The hand in his hair loosened slightly. It almost turned into a pet, Roman’s fingers carding through his hair before tightening back up once more. Roman’s posture relaxed. His eyes softened behind the mask. “There’s a good boy,” he said in that low, raspy voice of his. Jason’s mouth watered, adding to the mess on the floor. “Now. Get back to it.”

Jason kept his eyes on Roman. He found it easier in some indefinable way. The intricate make of his mask, the low, partially unbuttoned collar of his silk shirt. Jason’s eyes fell to half mast as Roman upped the pace and resumed fucking his face with gusto. The moans started up again, louder this time, definitely audible to anyone even remotely close to the room. Jason shifted impatiently on the floor. Every inch of his skin felt hot and tight and entirely too ignored. 

“That’s it, take it all.” Roman’s dirty talk sharpened as his thrusts became more and more erratic. “You big fucking slut, it’s like I picked up a whore instead of an heir. You gonna make daddy cum, Red? You gonna show me why daddy likes you best? That’s it, that’s it, use that fucking tongue—” 

It should have been a sign, that escalation. It should have been a big, neon-bright sign that Roman was about to tip over the edge, but for some reason, for some inexplicable reason, Jason failed to read it. A haze had settled over him. An almost meditative calm. His throat burned and his jaw ached, his wrists rubbed raw by the unconscious struggle to free himself from his restraints, but he didn’t care. He blinked slowly and sparingly, and when Roman slammed into his throat using both hands to hold Jason’s face to his pelvis, it took him by surprise. 

It shouldn’t have, all things considered. Tonight had been a night of that though, so he tried not to blame himself for gagging as badly as he did.

And Roman, for all his vocalizing before, came quietly. Jason had all of a second or two to be surprised by that revelation before he found himself further distracted by the fucking swimming pool’s worth of cum pouring its way down his throat. The stupor faded in an instant, his survival instinct _ finally _choosing now to kick in. He thrashed against Roman’s grip, fought it as hard as he could, but the man held him firmly and forced him to drink it all. 

The release was thick, bitter, and only marginally better in his stomach than in his lungs. Jason swallowed with his eyes closed. He ached to do something to show him how pissed off he was. Slap his thighs, deck him in the throat, hell, even flip him off as his throat bobbed helplessly around the softening shaft. A knife to the groin would have been a better message. One of these days he’d go through with it, too. Just as soon as his mouth wasn’t so fucking occupied. 

“There’s a good bitch,” Roman laughed, his voice somehow lower once it was all said and done. He loosened his grip on Jason’s hair after fucking his softening cock deeper one last time. Jason gagged, which of course turned into a full-blown hacking fit once he was allowed to finally pull off. Tears ran down his cheeks. Roman cupped him under the chin to keep his face forward so he could see. It was hard to tell if baring his teeth right now would look threatening or just pathetic. Jason decided to risk it, if only to say he tried. 

“Now, was that so bad?” The hand under his chin was almost gentle compared to what it’d just done to Jason’s scalp. “You were so good for daddy, weren’t you?”

“Should’ve bitten it off,” Jason croaked, blinking away tears. “You nasty fuck. Who said you could cum in my mouth?”

Another laugh. Roman’s grip hardened. He lifted, forcing Jason’s chin to rise higher, his neck stretching out of the slouch he’d fallen into once he no longer had a fucking dick in his mouth to hold him up. Embarrassment welled up in the pit of Jason’s stomach when Roman’s fingers slipped a little from the spit still coating his chin. Jesus Christ, he was a mess. 

Embarrassment swiftly morphed into mortification as Roman drew his thumb over Jason’s bottom lip, spreading the saliva like a balm. Roman cocked his head to the side as he clicked his tongue. “Don’t go putting up that attitude again. Not when daddy’s got you so wet for him.” 

“You’re—” 

One word. He managed one word before Roman moved his foot in between his legs and pressed the sole of his shoe flat against his straining cock. Jason hunched forward, instinctively moving to protect his most vulnerable bits, but the hand holding his face refused to let him go. Roman chuckled, low and throaty, in his chest. He ground his foot against Jason’s dick, the pressure just shy of being painful. 

“Wet and hard. My boy is so needy.”

Jason groaned, eyes drifting shut. His arms strained against the handcuffs, his knees shifting along the floor as he rolled his hips into Roman’s shoe. “You’re a sick old man,” he said weakly. Opening his eyes was hard; he forced himself to do it anyway. “At least use your fucking hand.”

The pressure increased. Roman snorted. “You don’t listen to a word I say, do you, Red?”

Jason canted his hips upwards again, biting down on his bottom lip. Close. He was getting close, Roman’s bullshit aside. “Don’t know where you got that idea,” he wheezed, practically riding the man’s shoe. “You say so many interesting things.”

Roman cocked his head and let out a disappointed sigh. “You really do remind me of her,” he said vaguely, his attention shifting to look out the window to Jason’s back. “So feisty. So goddamn sharp.”

The shivers were getting worse. Jason closed his eyes tight. The tension in his belly was so goddamn tight. Just a… Just a little more...

And there. _ There. _Roman pressed down with his heel and Jason locked up, rictus tight, and spilled inside his damn pants like a fucking teenager. Jason wasn’t paying attention, wasn’t controlling himself at all, but he knew he wasn’t going to follow Roman’s lead and make it a quiet thing; when he came, he came with an embarrassingly loud moan, teeth sunk deeply into his bottom lip and eyes smarting with tears. 

The tears actually began to fall when Roman kept up his grinding. Jason hissed and tried to wiggle free, but with his chin still trapped in the man’s hand, there was no running away. He looked up at Roman pitifully and opened his mouth to… to tell him to fuck off or something. Roman’s fingers slipped inside before he could though, and Jason just followed instinct. He sucked on the man’s fingers.

“Just look at you. There’s a reason they call you Red Hood and it ain’t from the color of your mask.” Roman pressed his fingers deeper, pulling a weak noise from Jason’s chest. “That blush goes all the way down, doesn’t it? It’s a good look, Red. Better than I expected.”

The cum in Jason’s pants was cooling rapidly, sticky and uncomfortable and absolutely disgusting. His arms hurt. His wrists felt like they were bleeding. Sucking on Roman’s fingers felt like a poor consolation prize for all the pain he’d put up with, and even that didn’t last long before the man retracted his hand and rose to his full height, looking down on Jason like a piece of art he couldn’t decide he liked or not. 

Jason swallowed weakly. “You… gonna unlock these cuffs?” His voice was so ragged. If anyone spoke to him on his way out, they’d know exactly what he’d done to wreck it this badly. 

“Is that really all you want to say to me?” The frown was audible from his tone alone. “I gave you a compliment, Red. Where are your manners?”

“Sorry,” Jason said, summoning up every last ounce of contrariness he had left. “Something about you making me gargle with your cum sucked up all my gratefulness for the night. Seriously. At least grab the key from my jacket.”

Roman stared down at him for a weighty moment. He snorted. “You know how to get out of them. Do it yourself,” came the dismissive reply. And before Jason could get out another word, Roman turned on his heel and drifted leisurely back towards his desk. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jason muttered, glaring daggers at the man’s broad back. He snarled under his breath and looked down at the ground, feeling out the cuffs to see how much slack he still had after all that thrashing. “I fucking sucked your dick. No wonder you aren’t fucking married.” 

If Roman heard him, he didn’t make it obvious. Jason ignored him entirely as he wrestled with the restraints, testing out all his quick tricks before realizing he’d upgraded for a reason and resigned himself to dislocating his damn thumb. He braced himself as well as he could given how bruised his knees were and gritted his teeth, popping the joint out of the socket with only mild discomfort. It’d been a long fucking time since he last had to do that. Silently, he prayed it went back in without tearing. He forced the cuff off his hand and cradled his wrist for a moment. 

After counting to three, Jason forced his thumb back in. The rush of pain came on the tail end of a post-orgasm cocktail of endorphins, so it wasn’t as bad as it could have been, all things considered. He let out a loud grunt and sagged into a slumped heap on the floor. He’d need to ice his hand when he got back to the penthouse. If he was lucky, he’d still have the full range of movement come morning. 

No thanks to Roman fucking Sionis, of course. Jason lifted his head to toss another well-earned glare Roman’s way, only to startle a little when he realized the man had approached him while he was distracted. Jason blinked up at him, hackles rising, guard emerging from its sex-induced slumber. He was almost stupidly vulnerable like this. Even with the taste of the man’s cum still on his tongue it was hard to forget just how dangerous a situation like this could be. 

“If you changed your mind on not being a dick, you’re too late,” Jason heard himself say, rubbing his raw wrists. “I’m already out, no thanks to you.”

Instead of a retort, Roman only offered up silence. In fact, he didn’t even seem to be looking at Jason. At least, not at Jason’s face. Jason narrowed his eyes and took in the angle of his mask, following the line of sight down to… Jesus Christ. To his fucking crotch. The blush from before rose up as if it’d never faded at all, searing his cheeks as he fought the urge to cross his legs and cover the wet spot on his jeans with his hands. He still fidgeted a little. His hands balled up into fists at his sides, his shoulders hitching up to meet his ears. 

“Stop fucking staring, you pervert,” he muttered, too mortified to meet Roman’s eyes. 

“Stop looking like a well-used whore,” Roman retorted. He didn’t even flinch as he said it. Jason kind of admired him for that, circumstances notwithstanding. “You gonna live on my floor all night?”

Jason shot him a glare. “I dunno. You gonna shove your fingers in my mouth if I try?”

He half expected Roman to shove them in anyway. Hell, he half expected to get another boot to the dick, only this time a hell of a lot harder. But… nah. He stayed on guard as Roman’s shoulders silently shook, then kept on it when a laugh quietly rose up to take over. “You’re a bitch, Red,” came the deep, raspy voice leading Jason away from the light and deeper into the darkness surrounding him. “And I like that in my corner, not on my damn floor. Now, get the hell out of my office. I’ve got some actual work to do.”

It was then that Jason noticed that Roman hadn’t returned from his desk empty handed. There was a bundle half-hidden behind his back, something he drew out with a flourish. A coat settled around Jason’s bare shoulders, and not the leather one he’d come here with. The scent of cigar smoke and Italian musk tickled his nose, telling him he’d just been gifted another inch from his benefactor. Jason watched Roman stroll leisurely towards his desk, his gait smooth and open, utterly off guard. Roman pulled out his chair and sat down with a content groan. He picked up his still smoking cigar and took a deep pull off it. Jason turned away before he could be caught looking. 

That left him with the view outside, grungy yet glittering in the orange-black haze of Gotham’s nightscape. Jason smiled at his reflection in the window, his sharp features matched by the skyline just beyond it. He gripped the lapels of the coat in a fist and held it closed over his chest, tight enough to wrinkle the fancy silk. 

A bitch, huh?

If it led to wild nights like this, then maybe he could live with that. 

**Author's Note:**

> lol its been a hot minute since i wrote something good and fucky and it was a delight. if you liked this, consider leaving a comment to let me know! check me out on twitter @tdcloud_writes and if you want to see more of my writing you can check out my website at tdcloudofficial.com. until next time!


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